Only an Allusion
by The Purple Eyed One
Summary: Ryou, local author, never thought she would write again after her first book brought up painful memories. But when a sequel is produced, it's up to her new editor to help her cope with the emotions her second book also brings to the surface. Female Ryou.
1. Chapter 1

**Only An Allusion**

_Author's Note: If you get the pun in the title of this story—congratulations!—this is the story for you. If not, and you clicked on this because you were curious or intrigued or perhaps in a drunken state, don't fret. This will be a fun story for you, too._

_I hope this first chapter goes over well… I don't have a particularly fond relationship with the first chapters of any of my stories. Although, I found writing the beginning of this story really enjoyable, so I have high hopes._

_Happy reading._

Chapter 1

Ryou took up the massive stack of papers and tapped them on the table again, the pile steadily straightening. _Just do it, _she coached herself. _Just call him. You can do it, Ryou. _She put down the papers with some reluctance and picked up the phone to occupy her now idle hands. _Don't pick up, don't pick up, don't pick up, _Ryou chanted in her head as she dialed the number and let it ring.

"Hello?"

"Uh, yes, hello. Could I talk to Mr. Kanto?"

There was some rustling on the other end before: "I'm sorry, but it seems he retired over a year ago."

"Oh…" Ryou pulled her knees up to her chest in her office chair and mumbled, "I thought that'd be the case. See, I'm Ryou Bakura. I published a book with this company a few years ago. Mr. Kanto was my editor, and… Well, to be quite candid, I just finished another book." She glanced at the pile of papers lying in front of her on the desk.

"Ryou Bakura… Ryou—Ah, here you are! Your last book sold pretty well, huh?"

Ryou felt her face heat up. "Er, I suppose."

"Well, Miss Bakura, we would be happy to set you up with the editor who replaced Kanto."

"That's not necessary," Ryou refuted, her tone hurried. "I was really only comfortable with Mr. Kanto editing my work. I'll…" She trailed off for a moment, biting her lower lip. "I'll just edit it myself," Ryou finally finished.

"Normally I would let you go, Miss Bakura, but you're missing a fantastic opportunity if you don't let our new editor at your work. The man is a literary genius."

"He is?" Ryou squeaked. She cleared her throat and said quietly, "I just don't know…"

There was an unusually long pause prior to the secretary informing Ryou, "Actually, he had a rescheduling of an appointment, so I can get you a time with him tomorrow at two."

"T-tomorrow?" That seemed all too soon. "Um…"

"You won't regret it if you put your new book into his hands."

Ryou thought about this. At last, she whispered, "Can't I email him, or perhaps—?"

There was some arguing on the other side before a British-accented male growled into the phone, "God damn it, be there or don't be there. My time is very valuable, and I would appreciate it if you refrained from using it on such foolishness. If you don't intend on being serious about your work, don't bother calling again and taking up anymore precious hours of the workday. If you don't show up tomorrow, don't assume you'll get another chance. Good day."

The line went dead, a familiar buzzing subsequent to his little speech.

Ryou swallowed several times before the moisture returned to her mouth. She finally set the phone back down on the receiver and put her hand directly atop the title page of her new novel. _Should I go? _she wondered briefly but immediately shook her head. _Am I crazy? There's not a single chance that I would be able to work with someone that hot-tempered. No chance. None. _Yet, Ryou still felt the words of the replacement editor's secretary echoing in her head. Did she speak the truth? Would Ryou really miss the opportunity of a lifetime if she didn't go?

With her hand still caressing the first page of her story, Ryou swiped the papers up into her arms and thought casually, _One meeting wouldn't cause any harm, right? Right. _She looked up at the clock on her office wall. _Some tea and then it's off to bed, _Ryou decided, stashing the manuscript in her desk.

-transition-

Ryou walked up to the publications building in downtown Domino City with the copy of her novel awkwardly held in her arms like a fidgety toddler. Her previous editor's office was on the twelfth floor, so that's where she assumed his replacement would be.

She rode the elevator up and found the desk of the assistant she believed she had talked to the day before. "Hello, I'm Ryou Bakura," Ryou introduced as she approached the woman behind the desk.

"Oh, you showed?" The blonde secretary's words gave the impression that she was surprised, but her expression was doing a horrible job of convincing Ryou that this was the case. It did, however, make the author a little suspicious. "Go on ahead then."

Ryou didn't need further direction; the new editor had occupied the same office that her old editor did. _No time like the present_, she resolved as she opened the door and closed it behind her.

The first thing she noticed was a copy of her first novel on the editor's desk. The next was the editor himself, a lean, relatively young man with shocking white hair and a malicious glare. When she had walked in, the mystery editor had glanced up from his work, studying her from behind his reading glasses.

"You're Ryou Bakura, yes?" he asked in the British accent she had heard earlier on the phone. While this time his tone was more nonchalant, it still retained a certain sharpness.

Ryou nodded, rendered helpless and completely tongue-tied.

"I'm Bakura Akefia." Bakura stood up and offered a hand. When Ryou proved to be frozen in place, his arm retracted back to his side. "Have a seat," he commanded more than offered, his manner no longer patient.

_His first name is my last… _Ryou thought as she sat across from him, but she wanted to slap herself for letting this be her first judgment about the man. _Focus, Ryou. He is going to critique your writing. You need to focus on why you're here. _She cleared her throat. "You… um… you read my book?"

"Hmm?" Bakura glimpsed at the novel on his desk as though it was his first time noticing it. "Yes, that's right. I read it last night in preparation for this meeting and to familiarize myself with your work."

"You read it all in one sitting?" Ryou squeaked. She didn't even know if that was possible. Her first book was a little more than five hundred pages with pretty finite-sized text. The vocabulary wasn't exactly basic either… Ryou doubted Bakura had actually read it, word for word, all in one night. _He must have skimmed it, _the writer thought, disappointed.

Bakura examined Ryou for a moment inquisitively, as if trying to read her inner thoughts. "'_Changing my nature seemed superfluous at the time, but it became more vital than I realized when my life began to take a malignant turn into the role I was meant to inherit._'" He cast off his glasses and tucked them into the collar of his shirt. "I believe that's from your book's twenty-second chapter, yes? Page four hundred thirty-one?"

Ryou felt her jaw drop. He lightly pushed it back in place with the back of her hand and sank lower into her seat.

"Now that we've established that I'm competent enough to be your editor, a fact of which I was already aware of—" By this time, Bakura's tone of voice had capsized into a pool of acid, each overly-articulate word directly aimed at Ryou with deadly accuracy. "—we can finally move onto what you came here to accomplish today." When Ryou made no acknowledgement to Bakura's proposal, he hissed, "Nod your head if you heard me."

Ryou did, frantically.

Bakura sighed and held out his hand expectantly. Ryou looked at it, puzzled. "The manuscript," Bakura growled brusquely. "For your new novel."

"Oh, of course," Ryou said hurriedly, somewhat reluctantly depositing the papers into Bakura's hand.

Bakura inspected the first page, his eyes following a similar pattern as he read the title, summary, and dedication quickly but thoroughly.

"Who is this person you've dedicated it to?" Bakura asked, pointing to the foreign name.

"Amane? She's my sister who passed away when she was a child," Ryou informed softly, wishing she still had the manuscript in her possession so that she could hug it to her chest.

"You dedicated your last book to her as well," Bakura observed, comparing the two books side by side; one new, finished, complete and the other striped down to its simplest form; liberated, clean, and free.

"Um, yes." Ryou didn't further explain or give any indication that she was going to. _I barely know him… He can't expect me to talk about something so painful when I've only know him a total of five minutes, _she thought with her gaze adverted to the floor.

Bakura drummed his fingers on his desk for a moment, noting every breath took and every flinch made by Ryou. "Very well," he announced finally. The editor pointed to the new novel manuscript and told her, "I'll be reading this tonight and will get back to you sometime tomorrow."

Ryou almost inquired if that could really be done, but since this book was a bit shorter than her first, (which he had no problem conquering in one night), she gulped down her words and nodded. "Thank you for taking the time to make my book a success." With that, she stood up and headed towards the door, using the lull in conversation as an excuse to depart. After all, Bakura didn't utter a single word to tell her to stay nor leave; why shouldn't she leave?

However, when Ryou gripped the doorknob, she glanced back at the white-haired man who was already indulged in Ryou's first chapter.

Feeling the need to ask, Ryou questioned, "Did you, uh, _like _my book? You know… The first one."

Bakura looked up, pushing the sliding reading glasses back up the bridge of his nose. He gave an amused smirk and picked up the copy of Ryou's first novel. "Catch," he told her, and Ryou did. As there was apparently nothing else to say, Bakura went back to reading. Ryou tucked the book under her arm and headed out the door, confused beyond belief.

_He gave it back to me… Is that supposed to be symbolic? Does that mean he didn't like it? Oh, Lord, I hope that's not the case._

These and many other worried thoughts troubled Ryou as she sat in a subway seat on the way home.

And finally, not being able to take it anymore, Ryou took out her book and opened it to the first page, desperate for at least one clue.

She found more than one.

Ryou was surprised to see that her entire book was filed with red scribbles—notes she supposed, from Bakura. The title page had a single note, or rather, a time in the right corner.

5:14 PM.

_That must be the time he started reading it, _Ryou thought, and as she suspected, she found that another time was written on the very last page: 2:08 AM. _He really stayed up that late just to finish my book? _She flipped through the novel at random and found nearly every page was filled with notes in the margins. _And annotate it apparently…_

The page after the title page was for dedication. _For Amane Bakura. _Ryou recalled typing it as she read it, like it was friend from her past giving her a hug. Next to her dedication, Bakura had written in red: _Be sure to ask who this is._

Ryou momentarily wondered why he found this so imperative but dismissed it as she moved onto the first chapter.

She soon discovered Bakura did, in fact, enjoy reading her book.

Ryou's first book consisted of a tale about a medieval land plagued with problematic creatures. The main character was princess of the kingdom, and when she received the crown from her parents whom had irresponsibly done nothing to stop the rampaging beasts, the girl went undercover as an everyday civilian to drive them out of the area using a special ability only royals possessed.

Bakura didn't seem to care for the plot much, most of his notes towards the beginning only pointing out literary devises:

_Metaphor. Juxtaposition. Simile. Simile. Was this line written in iambic pentameter on purpose? Metaphor. Synecdoche (impressive). Simile. Simile._

But when the protagonist faced the first creature, Bakura had become noticeably more interested:

_Badassery, _the editor had written next to the description of the first monster. Ryou wasn't surprised by this. She had worked tirelessly on describing the creatures, and the first one was unquestionably her favorite.

It was a shadow beast, a mismangled failed experiment by one of the sorcerers of the land. By itself, the pitiful being was hardly a threat, but with the help of power-hungry darkness that had invaded the country, it became quite the formidable foe and began terrorizing a poor river village.

Bakura also seemed to like how Ryou's main character had defeated it:

_I halfway expected it to be destroyed by light. I'm glad it was instead exorcised from the land with fire. It has been long-considered cliché for light to always prevail over darkness._

Ryou nodded in agreement upon reading this note next to the excerpt. She had thought so too, and because the writer had wanted to be more original, she had gone with something not so obvious.

Throughout the book from that point on, the protagonist's fire abilities became one of the main focuses. The princess even announced to one of her advisors (who was closer to her than the average advisor): "I shall burn the evil out of this land, and when everything is finally brought down to the cinders and ashes, I will remain, prepared to bring it back up to the glory it once was."

_Kind of an anti-hero, _Bakura had inscribed besides the line. _I like it._

When the main antagonist was introduced in disguise as a harmless side character a chapter later, Bakura saw the plot twist a mile away:

_I know that guy isn't telling Rusa—_the princess's name—_everything he knows. I'm predicting some deception. _And when Bakura's prediction came into play a few chapters later, he scribbled a good-humored "called it" on the side of the page.

"Excuse me?"

Ryou looked up from the book, completely in a daze. She had completely put out of her mind where she was, even to the point where she had momentarily forgotten that there were other people in the world besides her and Bakura. "Er, yes, can I help you?"

The little girl whom had interrupted her was perhaps in high school but no older than that. She stared at Ryou with wide, glassy eyes. "Yes, actually. Is that _Enama's Sacrifice _you're reading?"

Ryou smiled. Her first book had sold well, but mostly only around the area; people in other regions probably had no idea it existed. At one point though, it had been very popular among Domino City's highschoolers and middleschoolers. Seldom did it get mentioned nowadays, being that its popularity had diminished, but most teenagers in the city still at least knew of it. "Yes, it is. Do you like this book?"

"Only a lot," the girl answered eagerly. "I read it even before everyone else started to like it. I introduced a lot of my friends to it."

"That's great," Ryou said honestly. After all, even though she had never planned on writing more, she still appreciated the fans she had made through her book. Ryou leaned in about an inch closer to the girl and divulged, "Between you and me, I heard the author has wrote a sequel that is going to come out soon."

"Really?" The highschooler's expression brightened immensely before it became confused. "Wait, but I thought the author had written at the end of it that Rusa's life had been cut short, that her story could not be continued…"

Ryou's lips became a pale pink flat line. "While that may be true, that doesn't mean someone else can't come along and spread her legacy, right?"

"I guess not."

Suddenly, the subway intercom blared out Ryou's stop. "I got to go. But look out for that sequel, okay?" The writer closed her book and stood up with some disinclination. "See ya."

The girl nodded and waved after Ryou as she stepped off the subway.

When she arrived home, Ryou changed into some loose-fitting clothes and curled up on her sofa to finish reading all of Bakura's notes. She didn't get far though, as she fell asleep soon after beginning, the book lying on top of Ryou's chest, rising and falling with her gentle breathing. It was left on the page where Rusa's makes her most crucial decision, when she makes the verdict no one thought she was capable of making.

_Author's Note: Thinking the name "Kanto" sounded familiar to myself, I googled it. And—what do you know?—it's the name of the first region in Pokémon. My brain just likes to screw around with me, doesn't it?_

_Is it good so far? I already have this story completely planned out (which feels really awesome), so I hope you'll enjoy every bit of it._

_Review please._


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: Guess who. That's right; it's me! And I didn't come empty-handed, so I hope you enjoy this new chapter. :D_

Chapter 2

When the world was still drowsy and dark, a phone rang through Ryou's apartment. The person apparently really wanted to get hold of her, because it didn't stop ringing until Ryou finally gave up sleep and succumbed to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Where is it, Ryou? Where's the rest?"

Ryou sat up, her book falling off her chest and onto the carpet with a soft thud. "Where is what? What are you talking about, Bakura?"

"The rest. The rest of your sequel. Where is it?"

Ryou yawned into her sleeve. "Bakura, that's it. There is no rest of it."

There was a pause. "That can't be it. You ended it with… What happens to Rusa's sister? Damn it, Ryou, tell me! What happens?"

"That's up to interpretation—"

"Don't give me that bullshit. Every writer, even the most ambiguous ones, has at least some idea what would happen to their characters after the events of their story. Ryou, tell me or so help me God—"

"What time is it anyway?" Ryou squinted through the dark at the clock on her living room wall. "Did you honestly stay up until four thirty in the morning simply to finish reading?"

"No, I finished two hours ago. I've just been pacing back and forth trying to decode your last chapter."

Ryou couldn't tell from Bakura's tone if he was being sarcastic or dead serious.

"I… erm…" The author cleared her throat. "You don't have the right to harass on the phone at such a ungodly hour. If you want answers, you'll just have to wait until morning."

"Technically, it has been morning for more than four hours."

"_Bakura._"

"That's Mr. Akefia to you."

"You'll never get the answers out of me by being rude like that."

There was silence. "Noon," he finally grunted. "You will be in my office to explain your story at noon. Not a minute later."

"That doesn't sound like a request to me…"

"You're testing my patience, Ryou."

"That's Ms. Bakura to you."

Ryou covered her mouth to stifle laughter as she heard the editor's enraged growling slip through the phone. "Fine." Each one of his words coiled through the phone like a lethargic serpent, one inch at a time. "Noon. You'll remember?"

"Yes, Bakura, I'll remember."

After a pause, Bakura gave up on the conversation. He hung up the phone without another word, and somehow, it didn't seem rude. After all, there was nothing left to say…

Ryou threw her own phone aside and collapsed back onto the sofa. "Four thirty AM," she grumbled groggily into a couch cushion. "He had to call me at _four thirty AM_?" She didn't have much time to dwell on this though, because sleep shrouded her mind within a matter of minutes, memories and consciousness being traded for numbing respite.

-transition-

Ryou awoke later with a stretch of her arms. She still felt drowsy, but she was glad she got to steel a few more hours of sleep nonetheless. At least, she was. Until she got a gander at the time…

12:20 PM.

_Oh hell._

With almost inhuman speed, Ryou ran into her bedroom, tossing herself into her closet. What to wear, what to—it didn't matter. She was already late as it was, and even if she took her car instead of the subway and didn't obey any traffic laws, it would take at least ten minutes to get to the publishing office, and—there was no time to think.

Ryou pulled on beige khaki pants and a very familiar striped shirt. It wasn't exactly an ideal outfit for a very professional meeting with her publisher, but—again with having no time to think!

Hoping on one leg as she slipped another sock on her foot, Ryou swiped her tennis shoes up from beside the door and swung the it open with unnecessary force, the metal hinges whining with strain as the doorknob hit flimsy apartment stucco.

"I suppose you were just about to leave?"

Ryou dropped her shoes, the sock that hadn't been fully slid up her foot falling onto the ground as well with one of the softest _thuds _she'd ever heard. But how could she not hear it in all the unanimated silence around them?

"I… um… yes. How—" The writer stood up straight, taking odd pride in her one-sock-cladded attire. "—how did you know where I live?"

Bakura didn't ask to come in, but rather, invited himself in. He strolled into the middle of Ryou's living room, wearing the same business suit as he was yesterday, though this time he was holding a charcoal black umbrella along with it. "I found the address in your files," he stated matter-of-factly, stripping his hands of matching black gloves and tucking them in his pocket.

"That's… kind of invasive," Ryou murmured, not knowing what else to say.

Bakura merely shrugged, simultaneously scanning Ryou's apartment. His gaze halted on Ryou's kitchen, and Ryou felt the air leave her throat in one grand swoop. "Don't have company often?" the editor inquired innocently, running his fingers over the handle of his umbrella.

It took Ryou a moment to realize what he was referring to, but after soundless moment, she figured out Bakura was hinting at how her kitchen table only had one chair. "Er… yes, I don't have a lot of company," Ryou admitted.

"Family doesn't visit?"

"No… At least, not really." With the mood of the room a little more than awkward, Ryou offered weakly, "Are you hungry? I could make you something…" _What do we have in common, what do we have in common, what do we have in—Ah ha! _"I know it's not teatime yet, but would you like a cup?"

Bakura's expression physically brightened as though Ryou was only just now speaking the same language as him. "Very well."

Ryou nearly sprinted into the kitchen and filled her teapot with water and lit the stove like a skillful tea-making expert—which, of course, she was. "I'm sorry I didn't make it to your office in time," she apologized while she waited for the water to boil. "I overslept a little…"

"I realize that." Bakura took off his trench coat and laid it across Ryou's sofa. "I thought I made it clear that I didn't want you to be late."

Feeling defensive, Ryou argued, "Well, what do you expect when someone tells you not to forget something at four thirty in the morning?"

Bakura took a seat on Ryou's sofa (where she'd slept until only minutes ago) and pointed out, "That didn't stop me."

Ryou sighed, taking the teapot off the stove as it began to screech in complaint to the flame. "How did it not?" Ryou wondered aloud as she poured the tea. "Are you an insomniac or something?"

"No." Bakura received the teacup from Ryou, steam from the drink wavering up into his face. "I simply find sleep a complete waste of my time."

"So you don't sleep… on purpose?" Ryou asked, sitting down across Bakura with her own cup of tea.

"I sleep," Bakura clarified, "but only when it's absolutely necessary."

Ryou wanted to somehow contribute to the conversation, but she instead took a sip of her drink, not sure at all how to respond to that. "You, um, wanted to talk to me about my book?" she questioned, hoping that turning the subject to her wouldn't seem selfish.

Bakura didn't seem to think this at all and nodded. "Your ending… was strange to say the least."

"I thought you'd think that," Ryou muttered, setting her cup and its platter down on the coffee table. "What confused you about it?"

"Rusa's sister, Enama saved Rusa's spirit but not her body at the end of your first book, correct?"

"Yes."

"And, because of that, Enama had to sacrifice a part of herself?"

"Also yes."

"And that part was her royal powers?"

"M'hmm."

"Then the second book consists of Enama's travels and strife to be leader over her land since Rusa can no longer be there in the physical sense?"

"Yeah."

"But the last chapter of the book is only a first-person account narrated by Enama, saying that her bond with Rusa had grown so weak that she could no longer communicate with her?"

"Pretty much."

"And then it ended."

Ryou drummed her fingers in her lap, her gaze lowering down to them. "I guess it did."

Bakura was quiet after that, and Ryou couldn't tell if it was because he was thinking or because he was analyzing Ryou's every move for suggestions on what _she _was thinking. Either way, she wouldn't dare look up.

"I've decided."

Caught off guard, Ryou's eyes met Bakura's. "Decided what?"

Bakura seem to mull over something in his mind before shaking his head. "Never mind." He stood up to leave, but Ryou caught his sleeve.

"Decided _what_?"

Bakura looked down at Ryou, his face twisted with… some type of emotion. Was it anger? No, Ryou didn't think so. Pity? The more Ryou thought about it, it did look like pity… But why was Bakura pitying her? "I'll tell you later on if you can figure it out for yourself," Bakura finally declared, reclaiming his sleeve.

"That's not fair," Ryou protested, a pout escaping her.

"Oh, it's plenty fair," Bakura assured. His expression was no longer sympathetic and was now the polar opposite—obviously taking amusement in her having to endure the suspense. "And, anyway, I have to get back to work now."

"Well, um, all right." Ryou glanced down at Bakura's teacup, seeing he hadn't even taken a single sip. "Would you like to finish your tea first?"

"No, thank you. I would take it with me, but that fragile cup will never survive a trip all the way downtown in my car." Though this was true, Ryou had a feeling he was saying this more out of courtesy than anything.

"Then… I guess you should go." Ryou rose from her seat and opened the door for Bakura. Outside, she could see the rain was heavy, hence Bakura's gloves and umbrella. "Good day for writing indoors, huh?"

The white-haired man nodded, though it was more of a "see you later" nod than a "yes, you're right" nod. Bakura had clearly lost interest in the conversation, and Ryou doubted he'd even heard her last few sentences. The editor's mind was reeling with thoughts, and not a single one was allotted to the weather, despite the fact that it was, indeed, unusual. This noted in her mind, the writer closed her apartment door with a flick of her wrist and sighed.

With Ryou left in her apartment, once again alone, she fetched Bakura's abandoned teacup and poured the drink down the drain. "A waste of perfectly good tea…" she muttered bitterly, though it was a trivial loss. She was more concerned with what Bakura had "decided." It seemingly had to do with her and her story, but other than that, Ryou had little to no idea what the man could have conjured up in that head of his. Bakura Akefia may have been a "literary genius", but he was no mind reader… At least, not that she was aware of.

Finally forcing herself to be unconcerned on the matter, Ryou gave up her thoughts in favor of eating a belated breakfast. She was too mentally tired to cook, so she snatched her own coat from the closet and headed out the door after Bakura, unforgiving winds and sharp raindrops clawing at her pale skin as she walked down the steps and onto the sidewalk.

_Bakura trudged through these conditions merely to talk to me for ten minutes? Somehow, that seems… sweet. _The thought barely registered before more stormy conditions snarled in her ears, commanding full attention. The author slipped into a nearby bookstore in search of shelter from the extreme weather, and of course, whom did she find standing in front of a wide, extensive bookcase?

"I thought you had work," Ryou huffed as she walked beside the editor.

Bakura didn't even flinch, didn't even turn to see who it was. "For your information, I'm doing research for a client of mine."

"Yeah right."

A wicked smirk escaped Bakura. "I feel like you have way too much time on your hands, Ms. Bakura."

"Same to you, Mr. Akefia."

_Author's Note: Kinda short, but oh well. _

_I really like writing this story. Really, REALLY. I hope you like it, too. _

_Review please._


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: I won't delay you, 'cause I think this chapter rocks. So please go ahead and start. I hope you like it!_

Chapter 3

In the bookstore down the block from Ryou's apartment, there was a square, flat piece of furniture in the middle of the historical fiction section. It made the Feng Shui of the aisle feel very wrong, but Ryou ignored it when she discovered it was an ideal reading spot. After a while, the author accepted it as her go-to place to read each time she visited the store. Unfortunately, being that the ottoman didn't have a back to it, the furniture piece was flawed and always made Ryou's body ache after several hours went by while she was invested in a book.

Consequently, when Ryou saw Bakura adopt her special spot to use it for reading as well, she took advantage of the fact that her very favorite reading place was temporarily perfected and sat down as well, using Bakura as a rest for her back.

It felt weird, Ryou thought, as her flesh was touching Bakura's through a layer of clothing. Even if she couldn't quite feel his skin, she could still experience the strange sensation of every bone in Bakura's spine being perfectly aligned with hers, give or take an inch or so. She could also experience every breath he took, the air traveling deep down into Bakura's core, grasping some unknown substance, and then returning to the surface to repeat the process.

The writer and editor didn't talk during this time, each having a book in their laps to occupy their attention. Except for a hand turning a page, there was no movement by either of them. The only exception was when Ryou looked up and out the window to assess the storm and see if it had lessened. She felt guilty for jostling Bakura each time she lifted her head, but somehow, an apology didn't seem necessary, as she realized it would only disrupt him more.

Once Ryou had finished a few chapters, she cleared her throat and inquired as nonchalantly as possible, "What's the real reason you're at the bookstore?" Once the question was released, she reached up and wiped the sweat from her forehead, the well-insulated building and tense atmosphere both contributing to that.

Bakura turned a page, not even taking a sideways glance at Ryou. "Is it a crime now to go to a store and read a book?"

"No… I just wanted to know." Ryou fiddled with the front cover of the book in her lap, not liking how stiff and heavy it was.

Bakura shook his head, and Ryou felt a light chuckle coming from him she wouldn't have been able to detect had they not been in direct contact with each other. "I was trying to get out of the rain, just as you had been. I thought I'd wait out the storm by reading a book or two."

"Sounds… logical." Ryou placed her book down on the floor and sighed. Somewhere inside, she had a strong suspicion that he had actually just been avoiding her, though she didn't believe it was for selfish reasons. So _what_? What purpose could he possibly have for avoiding her?

But that wasn't the question Ryou wanted to ask at the moment.

"Bakura…" Her tone was much too soft, almost childlike. But Ryou couldn't bring herself to raise her voice any louder. "Did you… actually like my books? For real? Or are you just saying that to be nice?"

Bakura turned and faced Ryou abruptly, making the author lose her balance and fall flat on her back atop the ottoman.

Dog-earing his page and placing the book aside, Bakura looked down on Ryou, his expression perplexed. Ryou, on the other hand, stared up, wondering frantically what Bakura's answer would be.

"Do you honestly value my opinion that highly?"

"I… Yes, I do. Is that strange?"

"Probably not." Bakura crossed his arms and laughed haughtily. "I am a literary genius after all."

Ryou rolled her eyes. "Would you just answer my question?"

On normal circumstances, Bakura most likely would not have. But he respected her honesty regarding when she had answered his question, so it seemed only fair to answer hers as well.

"While I don't particularly care for your genre," Bakura explained as he cleaned his reading glasses on the edge of his shirt, "I did, in fact, like it."

Ryou beamed. "I'm glad." She sat herself up and retrieved the book she had been reading, turning it to the back where the synopsis was in plain view. "Would you perhaps like to go to lunch now?" she proposed. "Or breakfast in my case?"

Bakura blinked at her, looking bored again. "I would, but I really do have to go to work."

"For real this time?"

"For real this time."

Ryou wrinkled her nose. Sitting in a dull office all day wasn't exactly her idea of a good way to make money. While being a writer did require a lot of sitting (only roughly five percent of it amounting to anything), she allotted herself several breaks to go outside and take a walk or even simply move into her sitting room to play video games. Ryou could never see herself having a normal "nine-to-five" desk job where she would have to work consecutively for hours on end.

Finally, Ryou mumbled, "Well… Good luck with that."

"By the way," Bakura declared, "I'd like to meet with you somewhere tomorrow."

Ryou perked up. "Where?"

"I'll send you the address."

"But you don't have my email or cell—!" Ryou cut herself off immediately as she saw Bakura's smirk fold up the corners of his mouth. "Those are in my files too… aren't they?"

Bakura didn't need to answer.

"I should have known."

That didn't require a response either, and Bakura made it clear by leaving the bookstore, the bell atop of the shop's door ringing a jovial chime as it opened and closed.

Ryou didn't have much time to dwell on his departure, because something stole her attention the very next second:

"Hey… uh… you. Hey, you."

It was the daughter of the owner of the bookstore, a teenager who worked there on a regular basis. Ryou knew her well, and the girl should have known her just as well, but for some reason, Ryou's name always escaped her for some reason.

"It's Ryou, Hina. Remember?" The author tried desperately to smile, to assure the teen it was all right that she had forgotten her name yet again. But, honestly, it wasn't all right, and it always put Ryou in a bad mood whenever it happened. Then again, it's not like they were friends… or even acquaintances… But if she could remember the girl's name, she should be able to remember hers. Not that she would ever tell her that…

"Yeah, yeah," the girl dismissed hurriedly. She held out a bright yellow package, the sticker of a mailing address still visible on the side. "That book you preordered arrived."

Ryou's bad mood was completely abandoned. "Which one?" she asked eagerly, rushing up to the counter and claiming the parcel.

"Um… I don't know. I didn't open it… Isn't that illegal—to open someone's mail I mean?"

"Yes, of course," Ryou murmured, though her heart was only halfway in it. She was much more interested on the book that had come, not that she knew what book it was.

Swiftly but carefully, Ryou retrieved the book out of the golden packet-like container. She realized it was one of the fantasy books of a series she liked. It was a book she read for pleasure more than for the fact that it impacted society, but it didn't mean she liked it any less. Just in a different way.

"Thanks for delivering this to me," Ryou told Hina. The teen gave her a "you're welcome" back, but Ryou was far too engrossed in the book by then to hear her. She walked back to her reading spot especially slow to start it, though she was already through the first page by the time she sat down.

Ryou missed Bakura right away after about the first chapter. The new book she received distracted her enough from the strain on her back and neck, but the warmth and company he had provided could not be replaced. Suddenly, reading a book alone didn't seem nearly as inviting as before.

After a while, Ryou gave up on the endeavor of finishing the book in the store and closed it. She stood up to leave, but something bounced against her foot as she took the first step towards the door, calling her attention.

It was the book Bakura had been reading, left to fend for itself on the floor.

"Well, we can't have that, can we?" Ryou commented on her thoughts. She picked the book up off the ground and dusted it off. "_The Pharaoh's Assassin_…" she read aloud. "What a peculiar title for a book…" _Well, _Ryou thought, _If Bakura was reading it, it must be good. _She placed it against her preordered book and sauntered over to the checkout area.

"You're back? Uh… Uh…"

"Ryou, Hina. And I never left. I was reading in the historical fiction aisle."

"Oh, right." The girl grinned sheepishly, like this was the first time she had forgotten her name or even forgotten she was there. "But wait. You already paid for your preordered book. Because it's, uh… _preordered._"

"I know," Ryou assured, trying not to get angry at the fact that Hina thought she didn't know that. "I wanted to get another book also." She slid _The Pharaoh's Assassin _across the counter. "This one, if possible."

Hina gasped, making Ryou jump. "_The Pharaoh's Assassin_? It's one of my all-time most favorite books!" Hina rambled on. "So, someone recommended it to you, did they? Well, you're lucky they did! This book is just _amazing_! Did you know the author of it lives right here in Domino?"

"What? No, I didn't know that," Ryou said weakly, a little dazed at Hina's enthusiasm. "Who's…? Who's the author?" She knew several authors all over Domino City and highly doubted she hadn't heard of this one.

The teen tilted her head to the side, an animated expression apparently plastered permanently onto her face. "His name is Bakura Akefia. Why? You know him?"

The words almost didn't register. Oh, but they did—only after the name "Bakura Akefia" had crawled over every inch of her body, like being slowly immersed in boiling hot lava.

_That bastard… I'll _destroy_ him!_

"Are you…? Are you okay? Uh… Uh…"

"It's Ryou," she barely hissed through white-hot fury. Grudgingly, she paid for the book and ambled out into the rain. The storm had ended, but a drizzle had been left, not brightening Ryou's outlook at all.

Ryou had half a mind to call Bakura. Hell, she had half a mind to _kill_ him. But the walk back to her apartment calmed her down enough to at least think straight, and as much as slaying that condescending son of a bitch sounded desirable, she knew doing that it wouldn't make her feel any better. And knowing that hurt most of all.

Why was Bakura keeping all these secrets from her anyway? Ryou knew Bakura didn't know her all that well and that he wasn't required to tell her anything… But it made her so _angry_. It just didn't seem fair.

_But I'm keeping some secrets, too… _Ryou thought while opening her apartment door, remembering that she kept back the motivation behind her own books. But she knew that was different. That was more personal… At least, it was in Ryou's mind.

_Should I… read the book? _Ryou asked herself as she set her preordered book and _The Pharaoh's Assassin _down on her kitchen table. She recalled the all-nighters Bakura had gone through to read her books. Didn't he deserve the same courtesy?

Then again, Ryou was awfully tired all of the sudden…

Abruptly, there was a knock at her door.

"I'm busy at the moment! Come back later!" Ryou called loudly, hopefully letting the person know that now was not a good time.

When no reply was sounded, Ryou stomped over to the door and swung it open with a huff.

"I said I busy and—" The writer discovered no one to be there, only a single letter left on her doormat. "Maybe the postman couldn't fit it in the mail box," Ryou mumbled, but it sounded more like a question than an explanation.

Upon opening it, Ryou found an address, a time, and a solitary command:

_Don't be late this time._

"Thanks for the consideration, Bakura," Ryou muttered sardonically, tossing the letter down on the table by the books. The piece of paper rebounded off the side of _The Pharaoh's Assassin, _the other side of it left exposed.

Ryou's eyes widened at the postscript note on the back:

_Also, I'm sorry._

"Bakura? Apologizing?" That didn't sound quite right to Ryou. It seemed completely out of character to put it lightly, and she'd only know him for two days!

Still, it made Ryou feel warm and tingly inside, like what all of her cronies in high school said it felt like to be in a relationship. Though, this was a completely different matter! And it had nothing to do with romance! Obviously. Yes, quite obviously…

_Then I'll read the book today! _Ryou proclaimed to herself, only to have her stomach growl irately. _After breakfast and lunch of course…_

-transition-

_Pick up, pick up, pick up—_

"Hello—"

"Yes, Bakura! It's Ryou! Your book is—"

"Whoa, Ryou, slow down!" Ryou did, as the person on the other end of the line was a woman, certainly not Bakura. "This is Mr. Akefia's assistant. Did you need something?"

"Yeah, I do," Ryou said hurriedly. "Is Bakura there?"

There was a pause. "No, he went home hours ago. You realize it's nearly ten o' clock at night, right?"

"Can you give me his landline number?" Ryou inquired, forgetting to answer the lady's question.

"Actually, he told me not to send anyone his way," the woman informed. "Something about a headache. Why? Is it an emergency?"

"No… I just… Never mind. Forget it."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Thanks for everything." Ryou hung up the phone, taking in a deep sigh. She hung her head and groaned. "You idiot… I just wanted to tell you that your writing is way better than mine…"

_Author's Note: Ryou has a classic case of I-Just-Found-A-Writer-That's-Better-Than-Me. I come down with it all the time._

_I had Ryou's first idea after realizing Bakura had wrote a book be much more professional, but the thought of Ryou thinking, "I'LL DESTROY HIM!" was much too amusing for me to take out. Also, that would me _my _first thought. So there._

_Only Bakura would write a book entitled _The Pharaoh's Assassin. _Well… Okay, so that's a stretch. But Bakura would write it the best out of anyone, and that's a fact!_

_Wow, I love this chapter! I think it's some of my best work. I hope you think so, too._

_Please review._


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note: Wow, the amount of love I get for this story is incomprehensible. WHO ARE ALL YOU PEOPLE AND WHY DO YOU LIKE THIS? _

_This chapter is shorter than they usually are, but I liked it how it was and didn't want to add anything. So there._

_I hope you like this installment! _

Chapter 4

Ryou studied the address on the note Bakura had given her. Could it be that she actually recognized this address? Yes, it was true. And yet, she didn't want it to be...

No offense, but Ryou had thought Bakura wanted to meet her somewhere a little... Quite frankly, a little more fancy.

Because the address Bakura had given her belonged to none other than Domino City's own shopping mall.

Ryou didn't know quite was to think, but she decided not to bother calling the editor and asking and instead simply ask when she met him there.

A shopping mall... didn't seem like Bakura's cup of tea. Then again, she didn't know him very well… What could he be thinking?

Ryou had a feeling she was in for an interesting experience.

-transition-

About five minutes after their rendezvous time, Ryou was waiting outside the shopping mall entrance, staring down at her feet like they would suddenly spring to life and tell her where Bakura was.

"Since Bakura hates me being late, I would think he'd never be late himself…"

"An interesting observation but a wrong one nonetheless."

Ryou's head jerked up. _Bakura… _"Wait, how am I wrong?"

Bakura's smirk met her gaze. "The only reason I'm late is because I figured you would be, and I didn't want to waste my time waiting for you."

Ryou felt anger in the form of a violent blush creep up her face. "That's quite a rude assumption about me."

"Well, your past actions haven't assured me you would act any way else. Should I have assumed you've changed in the last twenty-four hours?"

The writer didn't have an answer for that.

"Let's just… go inside," Ryou mumbled, turning away from the editor. "You told me to come here for a reason, right? Let's get this over with."

Bakura scoffed, "You could at least _pretend _to be excited to spend some time with me."

Ryou shook her head, a groan escaping her. "How could I when you've been so rude to me?"

"I'm sorry; does my honesty come across as rude?"

Ryou rose her hand—to do what, she wasn't sure. She stared at it for a minute, intrigued by the reflex. But, in the end, she let her hand sink down back to her side.

"Impressive," Bakura praised. His hand rested on the writer's shoulder, making a startled shiver zip down her spine. "You rose your hand to slap me, right? Yet you controlled your impulse and thought through your action, contemplating if it would be in vain or not. In the end, you decided it would be and decided not to waste your time."

_Who _is _this guy? _Ryou thought. _How can he read my actions more easily than I can? _She brushed his hand off her shoulder and muttered, "It's unsettling when you do that."

"Hmm? Do what?" Bakura rolled his eyes toward the sky in amusement.

A pause. "… Never mind. Like I said earlier, let's just get this over with."

"Fair enough," Bakura obliged, holding the shopping mall entrance door open for Ryou. The writer momentarily considered ignoring the motion and opening her own door, but in the end, she did utilize his gesture. Of course, a malicious glare was sent Bakura's way as she did, but the editor only smirked even more condescendingly, either ignoring it all together or hiding his hurt pride really well.

The mall was crowded, people walking which way and that around the writer and editor duo. Ryou imagined this made Bakura very uncomfortable. After all, he didn't seem like much of a people person. But for some reason, he looked rather happy, ecstatic even. _He's starting to frighten me…_

"Then, let's go."

Ryou pushed her thoughts aside and asked, "Go where?"

Bakura didn't answer. Instead, he commandeered Ryou's hand and dragged her along, not bothering to fill her in on any details.

Ryou gazed down at their interlocked fingers, a foreign mixture of contempt and warm fuzziness overpowering her. True, her hand was ensnared like a rabbit in a steal trap, but she was… happy about it? Well, happy was definitely the wrong word… A better definition would probably be that she didn't mind it. That was it; she didn't care. She didn't care about being dragged along to God-knows-where and she didn't care about Bakura being a better writer than her and she _certainly _didn't care for Bakura himself. Not in the least—not at all! So why did thinking this make her suddenly depressed?

"Sit down."

"Oka—Wah?" Ryou was yanked down, her shoulder making an unhealthy cracking noise as she was tossed down into the chair. The writer separated her hand from Bakura's and whined, "Could you bother yourself to be any more careful? And why are we in the food court? Are you going to answer any of my questions?"

Bakura disregarded these inquires with silence, taking a seat himself. "Ryou, pay attention to those people over there," he abruptly ordered, pointing to a couple of men walking across the checkered floor just beside a larger crowd.

Ryou squinted at them; they seemed like normal everyday people. So why was Bakura so fascinated by them?

As she studied them, the man on the left sneezed, bringing his hand up to his mouth to cover it. She faintly heard the other man tell him, "God bless you" before the pair laughed it off and regrouped with the people in front of them.

"Okay… What was the point of watching that?" Ryou questioned, looking to the side at Bakura.

Bakura continued to stare on at the two men, an amused expression escaping onto his features. "Why do you think he said that, Ryou?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

Bakura folded his hands. "The man accompanying the other one said, 'God bless you.' Isn't that an interesting choice of phrasing?"

Ryou wrinkled her nose. "I… guess."

"Why do you think he chose that particular wording?" Bakura continued, "No one around here uses that phrase. Do you think he's a foreigner? Or do you think that perhaps his mother or father was? Could he have been religious? Or just very polite?"

The writer blinked rapidly. "I don't know. Why does it matter?"

Bakura finally turned to look at Ryou, his fixed stare seeming to challenge her. "Do you think of that person who we just saw as a friend?"

"What? No, of course not. I don't know him! I've never met him! He's a complete stranger after all." Ryou felt her tone enter an octave of hysteria, overwhelmed by everything.

Bakura grinned. "And, if you _did _know if that man was religious or polite or that he was a foreigner, would you continue to regard him as a stranger despite the fact that you know a fair amount of knowledge about him?"

Ryou squirmed in her seat. "I suppose… that I couldn't any longer. He'd then be someone I knew, even if we weren't close."

"So even if you knew nothing else about him, he'd still be a _someone _in your eyes after you knew a fragment of information about him?"

Ryou nodded slowly. "So… What's your point to all this?"

Bakura stood up, pulling the other fellow writer up with him. "My point, Ryou, is that Rusa's sister, Enama is still a stranger to me."

Ryou tilted her head to the side. "You mean in my book?"

"Obviously," Bakura growled.

"Oh." Ryou hummed for a moment before inhaling a sharp breath. "Are you implying that my character is a _Mary Sue_?"

Irritated, Bakura hissed, "There is no 'implying' in what I say. And 'Mary Sue?' What in the hell kind of terminology is that?"

Ryou laughed at Bakura's confusion, oddly pleased she could catch the editor off guard. "N-nothing. Forget it. But you really think Enama needs improvement?"

"Yes, and a lot of it." Bakura sighed. "At this point, I can not pinpoint a single personality trait of hers. So I expect you to go back, edit your work, and make Enama more interesting."

"How?"

Bakura smirked. "How would Enama react to someone sneezing?"

"She…" Ryou thought, crossing her arms with her eyes fixed on the tile floor. "… She would probably ignore that person and not say anything at all."

"And why?"

"Because… Because she's kind of distant and doesn't really like to bring attention to herself."

Bakura nodded in approval. "Good. Now go incorporate it in Enama's character."

Ryou stuttered, "L-like right now? You want me to leave? Already?"

"Oh, my apologies. Did you want me to buy you dinner first?"

Ryou spun around faster than she thought was possible, a blush inviting itself onto her face. "O-of course not! You don't need to do that. Besides, you probably have work to do…"

"No, not really."

"Well then… I have work to do."

"You do indeed."

"But, wait, Bakura…" Ryou turned back around, looking straight into Bakura's eyes to make sure she got a truthful answer. "Why did you keep the fact that you've written a book to yourself?"

Bakura didn't hesitate in replying, "I haven't written a book."

"Don't lie to me, Bakura. I know you have."

"You didn't let me finish." Bakura leaned down and whispered, "I haven't written _a _book. I've written twelve."

It took all of Ryou's strength not to bring her hand up and follow through on slapping him. But that's just what he wanted; she could see right through his teasing. "So… So you've written twelve. Why did you keep the fact away from me?"

"I didn't want to discourage you."

"You think you're better than me?"

"That's quite a rude assumption about me."

Ryou's own words being thrown back at her stung. She bit her lower lip to keep back a groan of defeat. "Then what is it you think about me?"

"I think…" Bakura shook his head amusedly. "I think you're pretty damn angry you can't read me like I can read you."

"That wasn't the subject I wanted your opinion on."

"But it's true, isn't it?"

Ryou had had about enough. She turned acutely on her heel, muttering something about work to do under her breath, and left the shopping mall with Bakura chuckling behind her.

It'd been a long day. And Ryou was sure the work she had ahead of her would only make it feel longer.

_Author's Note: That's the scene I imagined when I began to write this story: The one with Bakura and Ryou in the mall, talking about why people did certain things and how it showed what kind of person they were. Hope you enjoyed it! _

_Reviews would be glorious!_

_(Oh, and happy belated birthday to Ryou Bakura! It was yesterday, the second of September.)_


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note: Hey, look! It's the chapter where I said the story would end! But guess what. Turns out I'm not quite finished yet… So I'll estimating this'll go on for another three to five chapters._

_You're welcome._

_So here we go. Thanks for all last chapter's reviews; some of them were so beautiful that they actually made me cry. I'm so glad I've inspired/entertained/helped/amused you. That was my intent after all._

_I hope you like this next chapter._

Chapter 5

"What do you think about this paragraph?" Ryou pushed her manuscript across Bakura's desk. "I revised it a lot."

Bakura studied it, his eyes traversing the page until he found the beginning of what Ryou was referring to. Then he began reading it slowly, taking in each word with great delicacy. "I thank you profusely for not using the word 'said,'" he told her. "I think we could all get along just fine without it."

"I agree," Ryou chimed. "I try not to use it unless I absolutely cannot think of any other word."

"I've noticed," Bakura murmured, tugging the copy of Ryou's book closer to see it more clearly. "And I think this version of the dialogue is much better. Enama seems almost paralyzed with shock in this scene, and the sentence structure captures it more genuinely now."

Ryou nodded. "Before, her line was, '"I can't speak to her any longer," she whispered, the words clinging onto her breath.' I changed it to, '"I can't speak to her any longer? That's ridiculous. I'm her sister; she must be able to because no one else can," she pleaded, her words clinging to her breath because nothing else at the moment was more stable.'"

"Just changing that first sentence to a question was enough to give it a taste of denial," Bakura analyzed. "And expanding upon it the way you did gave it a hint of madness." The editor smirked. "Enama is someone now. A friend. A neighbor. Someone I've met and can either relate to or marvel at. I'm impressed, Ryou."

A shrill, almost panicked sound escaped from Ryou before she caught her fault and covered it up with a cough. "I-I just did what you asked me to do," she excused. "Most of the improvement was really your doing, Bakura… I took your advice and it worked. I can hardly take the credit."

Bakura shook his head. "I didn't write your book, Ryou, and I didn't make these improvements to it. You should be proud of yourself."

The writer squirmed over the further compliments and gazed down at her lap for a moment, contemplating how to respond. After she decided she couldn't do his praise justice, Ryou transitioned, "But, Bakura, that reminds me…"

"Yes?"

"In _The Pharaoh's Assassin…_ I mean, in your book… You main character is purposefully ambiguous."

Bakura narrowed his eyes. "'Purposefully'?"

"Yeah." Ryou explained softly, "You don't tell us his name or where he was from or even his motive to wanting to kill the Pharaoh. It must have come up in your thought process to include these details, but you chose not to include them." She cleared her throat and concluded, "I call that purposeful."

Bakura twitched once, only slightly, and Ryou was suddenly aware at what she had done:

She had read Bakura's intentions.

"Not so fun on the other side, huh?" Ryou inquired playfully, feigning an expression of innocence.

"How unexpected." The editor elaborated, "Yes, you're quite right about me making my protagonist ambiguous. I did so to express that, even if our assassin was successful in his mission, it would all be in vain: The Pharaoh would still die a martyr, praised by the history books and pitied by his subjects. And the assassin would still die an assassin, damned by society and God alike, his name never even mentioned in the very history books that commended his enemy."

Bakura's explanation left Ryou feeling very hollow inside—so much so that she was convinced a strong enough draft could make fold and crinkle into a little heap of what used to be Ryou Bakura, author extraordinaire.

"What are you feeling right now?" Bakura asked, though his tone suggested he already had a pretty good idea.

"Angry," Ryou answered automatically, her voice cavernous. "Really angry."

Bakura looked at her thoughtfully. "Why?"

Ryou cleared her throat and clarified, "Well, even though the reason for the assassin's hatred towards the Pharaoh is never revealed, it's heavily implied that the Pharaoh wronged the protagonist in some way. After all, the assassin wouldn't seek revenge for no reason… So I'm angry that the _real _hero of the story doesn't get anything after sticking to an ambitious goal and accomplishing it, going through all the hardships he did and still succeeding."

"Hmm." Bakura shrugged. "And that is how you interpret it? That the assassin was the victim? Not the Pharaoh?"

"Well… Yeah." Ryou nodded to clarify that her answer was yes. "I mean, the Pharaoh did lose his life, but he will be immortal in a sense, being that the history books will always testify to the fact that he was a great and noble and… stuff." The author mentally scolded herself for using as bland a word as "stuff," but she continued on, "And the assassin might not even get mentioned at all—certainly his name wouldn't. I don't think that's fair at all."

"I see." Bakura paused for a moment, processing Ryou's take on his story entirely. Ryou herself stayed quiet, not wanting to disrupt the editor's train of thought.

Finally, Bakura took Ryou's manuscript in his hands flipped through the papers until he reached a little under the middle of it. "You moved part of chapter seven to chapter nine," he observed.

"What of it?"

"Explain why."

Ryou was hesitant to move away from the topic at hand, but did eventually, divulging into the further changes she had made to her story. Still, she wondered what Bakura had gathered through all that; why did he want to know her opinion about these things anyway? Was he reading into her more? Or was he just bored and in need of some amusement?

_How maddening, _the writer thought, gazing at Bakura while he made some notes in deep red ink on the side of one of her pages. _I thought his purposes to doing these things would become clearer the more I spent time with him. But they only seem to get even more confusing with each moment. _

"I'm going home," Ryou suddenly announced, standing up from her seat. She reached across Bakura's desk and retrieved her manuscript. "I've had enough."

Bakura looked up at the other, deep fascination dominating over all the other emotions his expression presented. "Am I doing something that makes you feel the need to hide?"

"_Hide_?" Ryou sputtered, some of the pages of her book wriggling out of her grasp and drifted onto the carpeted floor. Of all the impudence—! "I'm not… not…" She could not bring herself to say the word again, no matter how much she denied it. Instead, Ryou soundlessly sunk to the ground and began to recover the papers she had lost. She picked up one, then another and another, her actions deliberately slow.

She also hardly noticed when the papers became scarcer within a few seconds, the rest somehow making their way into Bakura's hands.

Wordlessly, Bakura tucked the rest of the papers into the middle of the ones Ryou already had. "I'll assume you'll want these before you leave," he added to his gesture. "You still have plenty of editing to do, despite all the progress you've made."

"Y-yeah," Ryou muttered, tapping all the papers on the floor until they were aligned. She stood up soon after, reminding the editor, "Like I said, I'm going home."

Bakura returned to his desk, his attention now on something else entirely. Ryou knew it would be a wasted effort to wait for a proper "see you later" or "goodbye"; therefore, she departed through the door.

"How'd everything go?"

Ryou stared at Bakura's assistant intently, as if she was trying to recall her from a past life. _Oh, that's right. Other people work here, too, _the writer remembered. "How'd… everything… go?" she echoed, the words not registering in her mind.

"With the editing," the woman baited, leaning forward far enough that the fabric of her shirt was bundled up against her desk. "You know… Your story? You and Bakura are editing it currently, correct?"

"Oh… Right…" Ryou gulped, something about the assistant's curiosity arousing her suspicion. "Yeah, everything is going fine. Progress is slow, but I think this new draft is a vast improvement."

"Does Bakura think so, too?"

"He does," Ryou replied instantly, knowing that to be the truth. If there was one thing she was convinced was fact, it was that Bakura Akefia was impressed with her work—how impressed, she wasn't sure. But that was enough to make Ryou feel better, if only for the fact that perhaps Bakura saw himself and Ryou as equals or colleagues or maybe even rivals. Heh, rivals with Bakura? She could hardly imagine Bakura ever audibly admitting Ryou had that kind skill. But whether he thought it or not was uncertain…

"Well, that's good." The lady smiled, holding her hands over her head and giving a little stretch. "Hopefully we can get your book on the shelves by summer. That is when your target audience has some free time, isn't it?"

Ryou nodded, holding her manuscript a little closer to her chest. Summer? That wasn't far off at all. Suddenly, she felt a little ill at the idea of her writing being thrown out into the public yet again. The first time was painful enough… Reliving having people she did not even know read her innermost thoughts sounded unbearable now that she thought about it. Maybe… Maybe she wasn't ready after all. Maybe—

"Quit scaring her, Mai," Bakura chastised, placing his hand down on his assistant's desk with unnecessary force. Both Ryou and the secretary jumped nearly out of their skin, Ryou's papers going everywhere for a second time that day.

"You're the one scaring people, Bakura," the newly established "Mai" mumbled, handing Ryou the papers that had floated onto her desk.

"Huh," Bakura articulated. He gave Ryou a sideways glance and deadpanned, "I seem to recall you saying that you were going home."

"I-I am!" the author squeaked. With nothing left to say, Ryou finally scurried out, her manuscript in complete disarray, much like her train of thought.

-transition-

"Stupid Bakura," Ryou hissed, scribbling out a line of dialogue once, twice, and then three times for emphasis. "Stupid Bakura." She uncrossed her legs and sprawled them across her sofa. The writer realized how tense she felt and ran her hands up and down her skin, trying in vain to massage out the discomfort. "Stupid, stupid, _stupid _Bakura."

But he wasn't stupid. That was the problem really: He was too smart for his own good.

Ryou gave up on her endeavor of rubbing the chill out of her system and went back to editing. But it was useless to try to take her mind off her present thoughts. Why did Bakura have to be so… so… Ugh, she couldn't pinpoint a word strong enough to communicate her disdain for the man—or rather, she couldn't find a word to describe Bakura at all.

Not at all… Who was he anyway?

"Damn it." Ryou felt a little tension leave her with the curse word. She cursed a few more times, feeling better for some reason. _What would Bakura think if he knew I was sitting alone in the middle of my living room, cursing his name? _For a moment, Ryou basked in the glow of the glorious thought. But she rapidly saw Bakura's smirk appear in her mind, telling her in his shrewd way, _You wouldn't be the first._

Bakura could even counter her when he wasn't physically present? That had to be some kind of special talent. Or a disorder… Ryou felt she should bring this up to a therapist. Then again, what good would that do? Therapists were instructed to give mental help, not scare away her delusions.

_Delusion… Confusion… Allusion… Oh, that's right! I had been editing! _Ryou gazed down at her manuscript again, taking a deep sigh. Her mind may have been rather spasmodic and random, but it least it gave her the common courtesy of being helpful sometimes.

_This line… should be more prominent, _Ryou decided about a line in the middle of the fourteenth chapter. She circled the sentence in red and indented it, leaving a little reminder for herself that it should be its own separate paragraph for dramatic effect. _And this one should be—shit, is that a typo? _Ryou hung her head in shame as she corrected the error. _I wonder if Bakura had seen that and ignored it or if he skipped over it on accident… _After all, Bakura wasn't superhuman. He had to make mistakes sometimes, too… Right?

_Of course, _Ryou declared to herself, but she wasn't completely confident._ I mean, what evidence do I have to support that Bakura would be careless like this? And what evidence do I have to prove that he wouldn't be? _

Nothing, Ryou realized. She had nothing for either argument. And she recognized, yet again, that she knew next to nothing about her "literary genius" editor.

"Hmm." Ryou glanced at her cell phone that had been tossed atop the kitchen table. "Should I…?" The writer knew if she put any more thought into it, she would chicken out and not go through with it. But impulsive decisions were often the best decisions, so she forced herself to pick up the phone and dial the number.

"Hel—?"

"Where did you go to school?"

It was dead silent for an extended amount of time. At last, the man's voice muttered confusedly, "Excuse me?"

"Where did you go to school, Bakura?" she repeated. "Where did you graduate? What was your major? Did you always want to be an editor? Where did you grow up?" Ryou knew she should stop hounding Bakura with her questions, but she couldn't help herself. She had to know these things. She had to know… to know… "And how would _you _react to someone sneezing?"

Bakura was all but completely devoid of a reaction. Ryou was sure he was still there—that he hadn't hung up or gotten disconnected—and she would have given anything at that moment to see his face. She waited and waited for his reply, not prompting him with any more questions. And finally, there was a response:

Laughter.

Cackling was more accurate. Bakura's laugh was certainly maniacal, not unlike the last thing a victim heard before a madman took their life. But it was also very good-spirited and lively, more than convincing Ryou that she had truly and genuinely caught Bakura off guard.

And it felt _wonderful._

"So… You'll answer my questions, right?" Ryou asked hopefully.

"I will," Bakura promised, chuckling continuing to escape him. He cleared his throat a couple times and added, "We can talk about it tomorrow, over your next draft."

Ryou stared into space, all thoughts leaving her for a moment. "Draft? Of what?"

"Your manuscript."

"Oh." The writer laughed nervously into the cell phone. "I had completely forgotten."

"So you haven't been editing…"

"I have!" Ryou hated how defensive she felt.

"Somehow, I don't believe you."

"Are you suggesting I was slacking off?"

"Let me guess:" Ryou could see Bakura's smirk clearly as the editor droned, "You were sitting on your couch in your pajamas, eating instant noodles, and thinking about playing video games."

Ryou gave a sideways glance to her cup noodles on the coffee table. "N-no!" she denied, dusting off her pajama pants. With remembrance of buying a new video game to play that night fresh in her mind, Ryou admitted bitterly, "W-well, um, yes. But I was editing earlier! I swear!" She gritted her teeth as she listened to her own words, knowing her argument sounded utterly pathetic at best.

"Then I suggest you get some more work done. After, you can get back to your thrilling Friday night."

"Y-yeah?" Ryou swallowed down the blush forming on her face. "Well I bet my night will be more exciting than yours!" She tried to call back the words as they departed from her mouth, but it was much too late.

"Considering the questions you asked me, I bet you'd just _love _me to explain my plans for the rest of my night. However, I think I'll pass and let you wonder about them."

"B-but, Bakura—!"

Again, it was too late.

"Bastard…" Ryou grumbled, dropping the phone back onto the table. But, really, should she have expected anything different?

That was the only question of the night that had no speculation.

_Author's Note: Hahaha. Ryou, I don't envy your position one bit. Except maybe the fact that you have cup noodles… _

_Sorry about the lateness of this chapter. I started working on it over a week ago, but I caught a stupid cold that I'm _still _getting over. Thanks for being patient. _

_I love you guys. I hope you'll do me the honor of leaving me a lovely review._


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: Not much to say here other than thank you all again for continuing to be so wonderful. The amount of praise I get on this story as well as my others is dear and priceless to me and can never be repaid. It makes me proud to be who I am and do what I do. So, again, thank you._

_Looking back at this story and especially this chapter, I kind of wish I wrote this in first person, Ryou's point of view. But it is what it is I guess._

_And on those notes, please enjoy the chapter._

Chapter 6

Bakura graduated from the University of Domino City with a bachelor's in language and literature. Immediately after, he had enrolled again to earn his master's as well, but upon finding his first professor's teaching style completely detestable, he had dropped out and pursued the rest of his degree online. Ryou decided there must have been more to the story, considering Bakura had completed his first four years without a problem, but she chose to drop the subject for now.

Bakura admitted he had not always wanted to be an editor. He told Ryou he had never even considered the option until a former girlfriend of his, during an argument, had complained about his overanalyzing of everything. "If I was so good at reading people, she had screamed at me, I should make a career out of it," Bakura recalled. From there, he knew he could go into either of two fields: Psychology or literature and language. When Ryou inquired as to why he picked the latter, Bakura simply answered that, "listening to the problems of people I didn't care about had little appeal to me."

He had acquired his position at the publishing company through connections he had with a fellow graduate. "It was my roommate, actually, who got me the job. He had interned here for a while and decided it wasn't his cup of tea. He did, however, tell me, 'You would like it, 'Kura. Everyone is so stuffy and serious and full of themselves.'"

"Well, that seems rather hurtful," Ryou commented softly to this.

Bakura shrugged unconcernedly. "It was his way of saying, 'There's not a lot of people who will bother you.'" The editor smirked. "He knew me well."

Again, Ryou figured there was more to that story, too, but she did not want to chase after further details. _Why delay progress?_ she thought, folding her hands in her lap and continuing to listen intently. This was the most she had gotten out of Bakura since they had met, and she would be damned before she stopped the progress they were making.

Continuing on, as Ryou assumed, Bakura had grown up in England just as she had. When he was applying for colleges, Bakura had applied to the ones as far away from home as possible. Places he had requested to attend reached as far as Greece, China, and Egypt. But in the end, he had settled on Japan, being that it was simply the furthest one away. Ryou wondered why he had wanted to detach himself from his home so profusely, but that, out of everything else, seemed like the question Bakura wanted to answer the least.

Bakura confessed the language barrier was formidable. "But it was the cultural difference that was the worst." The man sighed. "No matter how many phrases you recall, no matter how many characters you memorize, nothing can properly prepare you for the cultural differences."

Ryou understood. Albeit, she had transferred to Japan early in her high school career, so it cushioned the blow substantially. She could not imagine moving to Japan and immediately beginning university; Ryou thought it must have been quite the transition.

"You never considered going back?" she asked, a bit of sympathy seeping into her tone.

"Hell no," Bakura scoffed. "That was a fate worse than death."

"Hmm," Ryou hummed, and _yet again, _she had to mentally tell herself not to pry more into the reasons. "And my last question…?"

"You last question was… Ah, yes, the sneezing question." Bakura chuckled. "Well, since I absolutely detest being sick, seeing as what a waste of time it is, I would probably pull back from the person and avoid them like they had the plague."

Ryou giggled at his answer, very clearly being able to picture Bakura doing just that.

"Were those all the questions you had for me?" Bakura asked, leaning forward slightly in his seat.

_No, I have many more! _"Yes, that's it."

"Good." Bakura revealed a devilish grin. "Then, if you don't mind, I have some questions for you."

Ryou visibly paled, shaking her head back and forth vigorously. "N-no!"

Bakura raised an eyebrow at her. "It's not like I'm asking you to recite Shakespeare or something… Just some simple questions." He added, "And since I was so compliant in answering _your _questions, it seems only fair you would extend me the same courtesy."

_Is he… blackmailing me? Is that the only reason he answered my questions? I swear, if that's the case, I shall never forgive him._

"I'm waiting, Ms. Bakura."

"I'll o-only…" Ryou stuttered, "I'll only answer if I want to."

"I can respect that—since, after all, I could have refused any or all of your questions but graciously chose to instead answer them."

_So he is blackmailing me… and trying to guilt me, too. Well, it's not going to work, Bakura! Our situations are entirely different, and I don't owe you a thing!_

"Whatever it is you are thinking, I resent it." Ryou barely had time to breathe before Bakura continued, "Whatever assumptions you're making about me that are making you wear that disagreeable expression, I resent them."

"I could be thinking anything you know…" Ryou mumbled. "I could be thinking about what I had for dinner last night… or any other number of topics."

"Yes, but somehow, I doubt it."

_Damn him._

"I resent that, too."

"You had some questions for me, right?" Ryou changed the subject, feeling less and less inclined to answer them by the second.

"I did." Bakura took up a red pen and hovered over the top of a blank sheet of paper. "First of all, I'd like you to answer all the questions you asked me."

Ryou blinked. "Like… where I grew up? And where I went to school?"

"That's right," Bakura replied, already beginning to scribble down some notes in strategically unreadable chicken scratch.

"Um, well…" Ryou crossed her legs and then uncrossed them, finding no comfortable way to sit when under the pressure of these questions. "I grew up in England, like you know. My father and I moved to Japan when I was in high school—for what reason, I'm not sure. It's not like he's here very often…"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Er, I mean that he's an archeologist. So he's not usually in town. Primarily, he likes to go to Africa, which is his favorite place. I hardly heard from him while I was in school and even less so now that I've graduated."

"When was the last time you heard from him?"

"Um… a couple weeks ago. I got an email."

"And what did the email say?"

"It was kind of brief, but he did say he got himself stranded in Mongolia… again." Ryou grimaced before including quietly, "And he said that he wouldn't be able to make it back for the anniversary."

Unfortunately, this did not get past Bakura.

"What was that 'anniversary' you mentioned?"

The writer sunk in her seat. "I… I want to pass on that question."

Bakura studied her for a moment and then finally complied, "Fair enough." He jotted down a couple more things. "And after high school," he interrogated further, "did you attend college?"

Ryou squirmed. "No, and all my friends gave me grief for it." She justified, "I always knew I wanted to be a writer, so I decided trying to be something else or getting more education would be superfluous and pointless."

"You always knew? How?"

Ryou laughed stiffly. "Nothing else interested me."

"Nothing at all?"

"Not really."

Bakura nodded, but Ryou spotted a smirk sneak onto the corners of his mouth.

"I don't need your sass, Bakura," she grumbled.

"I apologize." Bakura hid the found-out smirk in his hand. "I just find it impossible for you not to have any other interests."

Ryou suddenly felt defensive. "I do have other interests!" she insisted a tad too loudly. "I just couldn't make a profession out of any of them!"

"Okay, settle down," Bakura chided, waving his hands nonchalantly. "The entire building is going to think we're crazy if you start yelling like that."

"Humph." Ryou folded her arms with a little smirk of her own. "Last I checked, they already think that about you." She teased, "See, I got this call from your secretary—Mai was it?—earnestly wanting to know what made you spontaneously burst out into laughter the other day."

"Think that's funny?" Bakura became very serious. "It could have cost me my job."

"Oh, _please_. This company could never fire you. You're way too talented at your work."

Bakura was silent for a minute, contemplating this. Then, finally, he inquired, "Was that an underhanded compliment you just gave me?"

That made Ryou have to think. "Well, um, yeah." She fidgeted nervously. "Is-is there a problem with that?"

"Not a single one," the editor promised, writing down more indecipherable notes.

Ryou felt like she had lost that round. And after being so close!

"Any more questions?"

Bakura surprised Ryou by promptly standing up at this and stating, "Actually, I've run out of time. I've got a meeting to attend, so we'll have to finish this up later." He folded the piece of paper he had taken notes on once, twice, three times and then slid it into his pocket. With a gesture to the door, he concluded, "If you would please…"

"O-oh. Right." Ryou took the hint and hopped up to walk out of Bakura's office. It seemed weird, she thought, that Bakura did other things beside read, write, and critique books. She knew it was only logical that he would do other things… But imagining him doing anything besides the three listed made him seem less Bakura and more… human. And Ryou was not exactly sure what to think about a more human Bakura. She would have to sleep on the idea.

Wait, that came out wrong.

_It's a figure of speech! _Ryou screeched in her mind, face reddening as she scampered out of the office.

-transition-

The next day, there was rain. Ryou remembered hearing about it in the forecast, yet it still caught her off guard. She was not really planning on going anywhere anyway… Ryou did not really enjoy leaving the security and comfort of her own home in the first place, but that day was the _anniversary. _And that was a day she especially did not want to stray away from her apartment.

Ryou did not even change out of her pajamas or brush her teeth. Hell, she didn't even make herself a proper breakfast. Tea would have to suffice, because the writer was in no mood to do anything.

Therefore, with tea in hand, Ryou crawled to her living room and turned on her TV. She folded her legs up, placed a blanket over her head, and gripped a video game console in her hands.

This is how she would spend the anniversary. And not a damn was given about it.

"Do you always leave your door unlocked, or were you expecting me?"

"_Bakura_!"

If Ryou could double jump like the characters could in her video games, she would have hit the ceiling in fright. The tea that had been precariously balanced on her knee hit the floor, and the blanket followed. The writer sat there for a while, holding her breath for some unknown reason, staring down the man standing in her entryway.

"You're going to pass out if you don't start breathing," Bakura warned, leaning his umbrella against Ryou's door. When Ryou made no action—breathing or otherwise—Bakura strided over to the sofa and pulled her up off it with a swift yank. "Come on now. Don't faint on me. What kind of bastard would I look like if I barged into your home and then proceeded to put your health in jeopardy?"

"I… don't know," Ryou articulated in such a small and quite tone that she almost didn't recognize herself. Her breathing regulated itself at long last, though the first few breaths were desperate sounding, like she had been held underwater for the last few minutes. When enough oxygen was received by Ryou's brain, she stammered, "H-have you lost your mind, Bakura? Do you always just walk into someone's house like that? You could have _killed _me!"

"Technically, it was your fault for not locking your door," Bakura corrected matter-of-factly. "Really, you should be more careful. I could have been anyone."

"Is that all you came to do? To chastise me on properly locking my doors?" Ryou questioned, a bit of hope finding its way into her tone. If that was the only thing, then she could go back to video games and pretend like the stupid anniversary had not been interrupted. Yes, nothing sounded better…

"I'm afraid not," Bakura answered.

Somehow, Ryou knew him leaving had only been wishful thinking.

"We are leaving actually, so I'll need you to change out of those frightful clothes and into something more suitable for the public."

"_We_?"

"That's right." Bakura grinned, clearly enjoying the confused and weary look Ryou was giving him. "Now, you know how much I don't like to waste time; change your clothes right away."

Ryou did almost the exact opposite and sat back down on the couch, concealing her head with the blanket once again. "What for?" she mumbled, retrieving her game console from the carpeted floor.

Bakura's eye twitched at not being listened to. "I believe we have an errand to run…" he muttered, a bit of annoyance escaping him.

"What kind of errand?" Ryou asked, barely paying heed to Bakura as he stood there.

"An important one." Bakura stressed, "So I need you dressed. Right now, Ms. Bakura."

"No," Ryou replied snappily in a way that made Bakura flinch. "I'm not going anywhere today."

Bakura clearly did not take it well to be defied. Chuckling darkly, he announced, "I'm sorry, but I'm not taking no for an answer." He shed himself of the black trench coat he was wearing and yanked Ryou up a second time.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" Ryou hissed, giving him a glare that would make a weaker man retreat.

Bakura ignored both the fierce look and the question, forcibly slipping Ryou into his coat. "I doubt you'll thank me for this, but I'm choosing to believe you will be grateful," he told her, taking the writer's hand and beginning to drag her out of her apartment.

"You-you-you're _kidnapping _me?" Ryou sputtered, heels wearing into the floor. "You really are crazy!"

"None of that now," Bakura scolded, looking back at her with a most unconcerned expression. He picked up Ryou's shoes from beside the door and handed them to her. "Unless you want you want to walk to my car in wet socks, I suggest you put these on."

Ryou did so reluctantly, but that didn't stop her from glaring at the editor the entire time she did.

Bakura didn't mind in the least. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it.

When the last lace was tied, Bakura opened the door and declared rather gleefully, "Then off we go. Watch your step though. The rain has made everything just a bit slip—"

There was a thud.

"—pery."

"I hate you," Ryou told Bakura from the ground.

"Sticks and stones," Bakura sung with an unnerving smile. "Also, please try not to get my coat wet. I would hate to have to waste time at the dry cleaners."

"Bastard…"

"Anything else you'd like to say before we go?"

Ryou sighed. Nope, Bakura was still Bakura, and even less human than before it seemed. On the bright side, it was the Bakura she was used to. So, with second sigh, she murmured a "no" and let Bakura drag her again.

-transition-

When Ryou caught wind on where they were going, she said nothing. As soon as she knew the location of this "errand," it was like all her words suddenly fled from her, leaving her a broken and mute poor little girl.

So, even as Bakura led her through the graveyard, Ryou did not speak a word against it.

It was easy to find Amane's grave. After all, it was the only one written in English. And it glistened in the rain as they approached it. But, as the author-editor duo closed in on it, the shininess of it faded down slowly until it was nothing more than plain stone among other plain stones.

Bakura halted in front of it, which made Ryou do the same. They stared at it for a long time in complete silence, only freezing cold droplets of rain reminding Ryou that time hadn't stopped all together.

After an eternity, Bakura announced, "You know it happens to everyone, right?" He gave her a very specific look. "I mean, not one of us is getting out of this alive. Surely you realize this."

Ryou hung her head, a shadow casting over her eyes.

Bakura hummed thoughtfully. "In case you're curious, I read about this in your files. Your last editor was sure to put down the date of your 'anniversary' as you call it. He also mentioned that you've never visited her grave since she passed away." The editor concluded, "You know now that I'm not exactly an expert on Japanese culture, but I do know they think it very important to visit the gravesite on the anniversary of someone's death. Also, it's not healthy to keep avoiding it like it didn't happen."

"I… I know it happened." Ryou finally found her voice. She looked up at Bakura, tearing she couldn't remember shedding already trickling down her face. "But you just don't understand…"

"Probably not," Bakura admitted. "But what I do know is that it's going to torture you for even more years to come if you don't accept what happened and move on."

Ryou said nothing but turned her head back to the grave.

"You know, it's holding your book back."

Ryou blinked the tears out of her eyes. "What? What is?"

Bakura pointed at the grave. "This. It's holding your book back. There is no resolution because of this."

The writer swallowed down a sniffle. "You… think so?"

Bakura groaned, rolling his eyes. "No, I don't. I do not, and that is why I dragged you all the way across town. Because I _don't."_

Ryou kind of giggled at that, but it sounded more like broken down sobs.

"Look, I'll drive you back home. When you get there, think for a while. Then scrap the entire ending of your second book and write me a new one," Bakura instructed. "I expect it on my desk tomorrow." The editor held out his hand. "Return my coat, and we can leave, all right?"

Ryou began to take the coat off, but then she stopped midway. "No." She informed him, "I'll keep this as collateral until you receive the ending chapter."

Bakura looked at her skeptically. "You're keeping collateral… against yourself?"

A pause. "… Yes."

The man shook his head. "Sure, fine. Whatever gets me that last chapter."

"Thank you," Ryou mumbled, wiping the tears from her eyes with Bakura's coat sleeve.

He winced. "Careful now. I want that back in perfect condition or the crazy deal against yourself is off."

Ryou had to laugh at that. "I'll keep that in mind."

_Author's Note: Bet no one saw that graveyard scene coming, huh? I think it might be the saddest thing I've ever written… I'm oddly proud._

_Stranger danger, kids. Don't go into cars with people you've just met. And especially not psychotic yamis. And ESPECCIALLY not a certain Yami Bakura… Just because it works in a FanFic doesn't mean it'll be safe in real life. You've been warned._

_Well, I guess I'm done for the night. Hope the chapter was to your satisfaction. Please leave a review if you wish; I'd love to hear from you._

_Edit: Almost forgot to say that this chapter is dedicated to the lovely The Amber Raven, whose birthday it was. Happy belated birthday, darling!_


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note: I'm back—and with a new pen name! Woohoo._

_I love this chapter, and I hope you do too. Enjoy._

Chapter 7

As motivated as Ryou felt on the way home, she lost every ounce of it when she came face to face with the blank computer document. There was no movement on the screen at all, except the cursor blinking every so often, as if it was mocking her inability to make it budge.

After almost three hours of torment, Ryou decided she had had enough.

"Bakura, I need a favor."

"I thought you might," the reply came from the phone.

Ryou rolled her eyes, trying her best to ignore the arrogant tone. "Look, I appreciate all the help you've given me so far, but I really need you."

"Oh? _Really _need me?" Bakura dragged out the "really" until Ryou was sure the editor had run completely out of breath. "Well, if you're _really _that desperate, I suppose I must."

"Don't make this sound so…"

"Suggestive?"

"I was going to say 'wrong,' but whatever floats your boat."

"I hate that saying."

"Odd. Me too."

"Anyway—" Bakura took a deep breath. "—I'll be there in a few minutes."

Ryou took a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"No trouble at all. What kind of man would I be if I didn't rush to the aid of the damsel in distress?"

"A normal one."

Bakura chuckled. "I suppose so."

-transition-

Having Bakura sit on her living room sofa and supervise her work was much more awkward than she had imagined it would be. It was mostly thanks to him constantly staring at her, his gaze not staggering for an instant; quite frankly, it was starting to creep her out.

Ryou moved her hands from her keyboard to her lap. "Can I… get you something? Are you hungry?"

Bakura snickered. "In fact, I am."

Ryou perked up, relieved there was something to take her mind off the tension around them. "Then, what would you like?"

"Hmm…" Bakura leaned his head back, getting a good view of Ryou's ceiling. "How about your ending chapter? That sounds delicious right about now."

Ryou slumped. "Oh… Yes, right." She positioned her hands over the keyboard again, prepared for inspiration to strike.

After another twenty minutes of silence, Ryou was ready to give up.

"Might I help you?" Bakura inquired, playing idly with the strand of hair that fell between his eyes.

Ryou blinked. "How?"

Bakura looked from the strand to her and then back at the strand. "Well, perhaps you should start with the title. All your other chapters have titles."

"Yeah, but I don't know how the chapter is going to go yet. How am I supposed to name it properly if I don't know exactly what's going to happen?"

The editor scoffed. "Simply good backwards in your thought process."

Ryou narrowed her eyes. "Simply… what?"

"Go backwards in your thought process. Instead of starting off with a chapter that inspires a title, start off with a title that inspires a chapter."

"That sounds… incredibly smart."

"You think so? Good, then I've done my job." Bakura waved his hand. "Go on now. Create."

"You make it sound so simple…" Ryou muttered, putting her focus back on the blank screen.

"Stop it," Bakura ordered. "Stop resisting the creative process by blocking it with doubt. Instead of dwelling on what isn't there, imagine what could be."

"What could be…? Okay, I'll give it a shot."

Rather randomly, Ryou picked out a title. A random title turned out to be good, because then her mind went straight to work on all the ideas that could cultivate from that title. And, sure enough, words started to magically make their way onto the screen, tapping of the keyboard quickly filling up the silence between the author and editor.

Ryou wrote for an hour before she remembered Bakura's presence and once again offered him something to eat. He refused, though, yet again, albeit more hesitantly.

It was only when two hours went by from the time she began typing that Bakura interrupted her:

Without warning, Bakura stood up, making Ryou jump.

"What? What is it?" She blinked at him a couple times, as if not registering that he hadn't morphed into one of the inanimate objects in her living room.

Bakura pointed out the window expressionlessly. "It seems to be getting late. Don't you think it's about time I go home?"

"Go… home?" Ryou glimpsed at her window and saw that it was indeed late. Night had fallen completely, and it was pitch black outside. "Oh, well, you see—"

"I'll be going then."

"Hey, wait!"

Spontaneously, Ryou leaped forward and grasped Bakura's sleeve. He gazed at her, eyes narrowed with acute curiosity, and inquired, "What is it?"

"Well, I…" Ryou gulped, redness intruding her face in embarrassment at her outburst. "Will you…? Um… Could you…?"

"Say it already," Bakura snapped, but judging by his smirking expression, he seemed to already know what Ryou was going to suggest.

The writer swallowed down her anxiety a second time and finished, "Could you… please… perhaps stay here the night?"

"Are you suggesting—?"

"No, not like that!" Ryou let go of Bakura's sleeve so forcefully that it was practically thrown back against him. "I mean, sometimes I write through the night. And since you mentioned that you don't sleep that often…"

Bakura's smirk flourished. "You want me to help you write the chapter all night?"

Ryou's face was delving into ridiculous shades of crimson by that point, but nonetheless, she answered, "If… if you could."

Unexpectedly, Bakura draped his hand on top of Ryou's head. "Why, my dear author, of course. I'd love to stay up writing with you." His tone of voice completely facetious, and so was his gesture of patting her head. But Ryou knew he would stay. She just knew.

"Thank you," Ryou told him. She took off Bakura's coat (which was had been wearing up until that point) and threw it at him, making the man flinch. "You might need this later if you get tired. I don't have any extra blankets."

Bakura, as if suddenly realizing what he had agreed to, scowled at his jacket but put it on anyway. "You know receiving this means that you really will have to finish this chapter tonight, don't you? No take-backs now."

Ryou nodded. "I understand."

Bakura sat back down on the sofa, smiling smugly. "Good. Then I'll wear it with pride."

-transition-

Ryou finished the chapter in its entirety slightly past midnight. She promptly handed it off to Bakura to be edited. He did so, and besides a few typos, he found no other faults in the conclusion and congratulated Ryou on a job well done.

"I suppose it's probably still too late to drive home now," Bakura commented warily. "Traffic is absolutely impossible at this hour, not to mention dangerous."

"Yeah…" It was not that this wasn't true, but the excuse still made Ryou a little skeptical.

Bakura leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "I'll be here if you need me," he mumbled, smiling to himself like he had made an inside joke.

Ryou sat down on the other couch adjacent to the main one and decided aloud, "No, I'll sleep out here tonight. The least I can do is keep you company before you sleep, considering all the favors you've been doing me."

"That's not necessary," Bakura stated, lying down and rolling onto his side.

"I want to do it anyway," Ryou said stubbornly and lied down as well.

Bakura groaned. "As you wish."

A moment of silence stretched between them before Ryou questioned, "Bakura, what was the worst book you ever published?"

"Huh?"

"Worst book. You ever published." Ryou rolled onto her stomach and propped herself up using her elbows.

Bakura didn't move a twitch, his eyes remaining closed. "I don't publish crap."

"Well… Come on. There has to be one book you thought was horrible but everyone else liked," Ryou insisted.

This intrigued Bakura, and he finally opened his eyes. "Now that I think about it, there was one…"

"Which was…?"

Bakura snickered. "It was a children's book."

"About…?"

"You're going to laugh."

"Good, I want to laugh."

"Humph. All right then." Blank-faced, Bakura admitted, "It was a story about a chicken in the army."

"An army… chicken."

"Yes." Bakura gave her a look. "You were the one who wanted to know."

"I know, I know. But…" Ryou wrinkled her nose. "How could you possibly lower yourself enough to publish a story about an army chicken?"

Bakura glared at the ceiling. "In the words of my boss, it was 'imaginative and informative.' He also told me that I 'had no right to criticize someone's work so harshly.'"

"Ouch."

"Indeed. And, therefore, I was forced to publish the work as an apology to the author."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. That book won a Pulitzer Prize."

Ryou sat back up abruptly. "You're joking! You must be joking! There's no way that patrolling poultry procured a Pulitzer Prize!"

"Clever alliteration."

"Thanks," Ryou murmured, collapsing back into a lying position. "But… Ugh!" She strangled the vacant air above her. "That just makes me so angry! I try, and try, and try. I put my very best into my stories, and some frolicking fowl filches my fame!"

"Once again, very clever alliteration."

"Not the point, Bakura. But thanks." She rolled over and gazed at the editor. "You've written books too. More than me actually… Do you ever feel like that?"

"Occasionally," Bakura confessed quietly. "Though, I realized in college that most authors were never able to bask in their limelight. Most were long dead before they ever earned the public's attention."

"That's… distressing." Ryou pouted and crossed her arms across her chest. "I'm not someone to crave a lot of attention, but I like to get recognition every once in a while."

"We all do. It's human nature. To deny craving praise is like denying your body water. That being said, it's not the most important thing. Doing something you enjoy and accomplishing a goal habitually is just as healthy."

Ryou growled faintly. "Your profound wisdom is getting on my nerves."

"Is it…?" Bakura's voice was becoming hushed and gravelly in fatigue. He stifled a yawn and told her, "I'll try to simply my psychology to your satisfaction."

"Your alliteration was more clever than mine…"

"Comes with practice. And I couldn't have you upstaging me."

"Exceptionally arrogant editor."

"Amateur author."

"Repugnant reviser."

"Novice novelist."

"Seriously, stop."

"No, never."

"Really? Ridiculous."

"Oh? Honestly?"

"Cheating coward."

"Obstinate objector."

"Juvenile jacka—"

Ryou stopped mid-word when something warm hit her lips. It was sudden and lasted even shorter than it had been decided to be done, but by the time it registered, Ryou knew exactly what had happened.

Bakura had kissed her.

"Shush. Sleep. Soon." The editor held his finger up in way that told her to be quiet and turned to face the other way, yawning into his hand.

Ryou was frozen, unable to process what had just happened. Did he just want her to stop talking so that he could sleep? Did he do it on purpose or out of not thinking? Did it mean anything?

"Bakura…?"

It was no use. The man was already snoring.

Ryou reached over and turned off the light.

"Bakura, you bloody bastard," she hissed into the darkness before she drifted off to sleep as well.

_Author's Note: The thing that took the longest time to do in this chapter was look up synonyms that started with similar letters. I hope you appreciate the work I had to go through._

_Well, there it is. Oh, Bakura… I can't believe I made you do that._

_Good chapter? Then tell me in the reviews! Please and thank you!_


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's Note: Ta-da. Here's a new chapter. It's a bit short, but this might be my favorite chapter so far. I hope you love it as much as I do._

Chapter 8

Ryou was very much in a daze when she woke up the next morning.

Writing hangover. They were customary, and the numb feeling in her head was a familiar one by now.

But what she wasn't used to was Bakura in her kitchen, leaned against her counter, carefully studying her tea kettle to catch the exact moment when it began to whistle.

"You know, a watched pot never boils," Ryou recited the famous saying, alerting him that she was awake.

"I refuse to believe that," Bakura refuted, his gaze not faltering in the slightest.

"I suppose this calls for a scientific experiment," Ryou decided. She got up from the couch and gave a stretch before meandering into her kitchen and standing in a similar manner to Bakura in front of the stove. "How long has it been over the fire?"

"Fifty-seven seconds," Bakura answered matter-of-factly.

"I bet you ten quid it'll start whistling between three and five minutes."

"Interesting… Then I bet it'll be between five and seven minutes."

"It's official then."

"Indeed."

There was perfect silence while they waited. But finally, the kettle began to screech at exactly four minutes and fifty-nine seconds.

"I was gypped," Bakura growled. Nonetheless, he reluctantly pulled out his wallet and handed Ryou a couple thousand yen.

"It's all right." The writer laughed lightly, folding the money and stashing it in her pocket. "The tea is on me. Feel better?"

"No," Bakura replied lowly, but there was some playfulness in the response. He poured himself and Ryou the tea and leaned back against the counter, staring down into his reflection in the cup.

"So…" Ryou stirred her drink. "I finished the story thanks to you. I feel like I should repay you somehow."

"Not necessary," Bakura mumbled, taking a sip.

"But it is!" Ryou's teacup shook with her enthusiasm. "I can… I can… Oh, I know! You came over to my place and helped me write. How about I come over to your place and help you edit?"

Bakura gave her a suspicious look. "I feel like you're only offering this service because you're curious as to where I live."

"How dare you accuse me like that!" Ryou scoffed. She held her teacup up to her face and let the steam tickle her nose. "Jeez, you try to be helpful and people start to get on your case…"

Bakura chuckled. "Fine then. We can pretend that your motive is innocent."

"It is!"

"Uh-huh."

"Bakura!"

The editor finished the rest of his tea in one gulp and announced, "Calm down. I accept your offer. You can stop feigning that you're offended now."

Ryou blinked, only one part of what Bakura said registering. "You do? You'll let me help you?"

"Yes." He smirked at her. "That's what you wanted, correct?"

Ryou's face burned. "Uh, yeah. Just didn't think it'd be that easy…"

"I'm full of surprises."

"You're full of something all right…" Ryou murmured into her tea prior to drinking the rest of it down.

-transition-

Bakura's place was not at all what Ryou had expected.

Everywhere, there were books stacked, papers scattered, tea cups towering up to the ceiling, boxes of miscellaneous items all but covering every square inch of the floor, and so on.

"What the…? What the…?" The bag Ryou had brought that was stuffed with her laptop and various writing utensils slipped off her shoulder and landed on the carpet with an apparent _thud._ "Bakura… You're a hoarder!"

"I am not," Bakura disputed, trying (but failing) to appear offended.

"You are too! I mean… How can you possibly live like this?"

"Somehow, I manage," Bakura excused with all the sarcasm he could muster. And, carefully, he blazed a trail through the rubble to his office. "Coming?" he asked behind him.

"But you, uh… You have to let me clean up this stuff first."

"I already told you that it is fine."

"No, let me." Ryou slapped her hands together into a pleading motion. "Please? I won't be able to function if I leave this mess here."

Bakura was fascinated by how much the clutter bothered Ryou, but not too distracted that he couldn't immediately answer: "If you must, then do what you like." He lowered his head. "I warn you though that you won't be able to find enough room to store everything. Believe me when I say I have tried."

"You just watch me," Ryou said confidentially. She dug into the bag she had brought and pulled out a hair band. After she used it to tie up her hair into a better-or-for-worse ponytail, Ryou placed the rest of her things on Bakura's personal desk and got to work.

First, she gathered the pieces of paper that were speckled all over the apartment. Some were blank, others had frantically written notes scribbled on them, and surprisingly, some were complete and whole thoughts that were, nonetheless, abandoned for some unknown reason. Ryou recycled the blank and illegible ones but categorized the rest in an empty box that she had found. After she labeled that box "OTHER" in black, bold permanent marker, she moved onto the next task.

The books. There were so many books. Ryou was convinced that more books were right there in Bakura's flat than there were in the entirety of Ryou's local bookstore.

And this task took the longest, considering the sheer amount of books Bakura had, and to not be forgotten, the variety.

There was everything: textbooks, children's books, recipe books, historical fiction, mystery, fantasy, classics, non-fiction, various other types of fiction, self-help books, reference books, comic books, manga, books in foreign languages, an English-to-Japanese dictionary, a Japanese-to-English dictionary, thesauruses, religious texts, biographies, autobiographies, and many more.

Ryou even found a copy of her first book, which she somehow found oddest of all.

And each book was heavily underlined, highlighted, and noted. Even the dictionaries. Ryou wasn't the sort of reader to make notes while she read for fun—it undermined the reading experience, she thought—but it did not surprise her that Bakura was, in fact, that type.

"Bakura!" Ryou called into his office, "Did you publish all these books?"

The tapping of Bakura's keyboard halted. "No," Bakura denied slowly. "Those are simply all the books I own. Although, the ones I've published and wrote myself are in there somewhere."

"Good to know…" Ryou coincidentally picked up _The Pharaoh's Assassin _at the moment he said this, and she smiled at it fondly. "Do you want your own books somewhere special, or…?"

"Anywhere," Bakura dismissed, the sound of his keyboard picking up again. "Anywhere is fine."

"Okay." Ryou placed every book by Bakura on its own shelf, but she quickly realized a problem after she began this.

"Bakura?"

"What is it?"

"I, um… I ran out of shelf space."

"I warned you, did I not?"

Ryou pouted and sideglanced at the several piles of books that were still plaguing the apartment floor and had no permanent place to call home. They looked so sad, she thought; she couldn't just leave them like that.

After some investigation, Ryou ended up finding another few shelves in the coat closet that would do, but first she to move all the stuff that was out of there first.

And that simply traded one problem for another.

Ryou trifled through the items in the closet. "Do you…?" she hollered somewhat faintly. "Do you really need all this stuff, Bakura?"

"Probably not," he answered emotionlessly.

Bakura's supposed assistant-for-a-day pulled a box out to reveal yet another. She set the first box outside the closet door and opened it, disclosing its contents.

"Bakura?"

"Yes?"

"Do you even play the violin?" Judging by the dust on it, she could already make an educated guess.

"Of course not," he replied as she thought he would.

"Then why do you own one?" Ryou questioned, running a finger over the woodwork of the instrument and gathering a good amount of dust on her fingertip.

"Well…" Bakura was thoughtful with his eventual response. "Here, imagine this: One day, I'm struck by lightning. Somehow, I survive the unfortunate event. Then, that night, I go home and stumble upon the violin I never use. Without much thought, I try to play it. Incidentally, I can play it magnificently—like a modern-day Paganini. It turns out that the lightning gave me the ability to be the most amazing violinist who ever lived. I become rich and famous." He paused to catch his breath, as evidentially, he had been talking too fast due to his enthusiasm. "But do you not see? If I had no violin at home, I would not be able to come home and discover that I had become so talented. The world would mourn for the genius that was so cruelly snatched away from them before my notes could enlighten their ears."

"You…" Ryou laughed lightly. "You have quite the overactive imagination."

"Humph. Perhaps so. Or perhaps everyone else are the ones whom have underactive imaginations."

"I guess you could be right." Ryou stood up, violin in hand, and sauntered into Bakura's office. She held out the instrument to the editor. "Well?"

Bakura gazed at it perplexedly. "Well, what?"

"Maybe you should test it out and see if you truly are a modern-day Paganini." She gave him a wide, reassuring grin. "Who knows? Today could be the day. You could have possibly been struck by lightning in your sleep."

"It's possible… Somehow, I think I would have noticed." Nonetheless, Bakura took the instrument from her and balanced its base on the center of his neck. "Worth a try, I suppose."

Gingerly, he plucked the bow from Ryou's hands and set it on the violin's strings. Ryou gave a nod, urging him to start, and slowly, Bakura began.

Right away, it was clear that he had not been struck by brilliance then or any time before then.

The first note was coarse and rugged, and Ryou had to struggle not to cover her ears. The second note was not much better. By the third, Ryou had to lift her hand up to her ear to be sure it wasn't bleeding.

"Damn it," Bakura growled, and he stopped playing (if you could call it playing) immediately once he spied the pained look on Ryou's face. "I still sound as horrific as ever. Forgive me, Ryou. I cannot be your violinist today."

"That's okay," she assured him. "It was… um… original."

"Original, huh?" Bakura smirked. "Yes, I agree. I've never heard anything quite like it. Have you?"

"No. Never."

"Then, I did accomplish something after all." Bakura placed the violin down beside his desk somewhat dejectedly. "Damn. And I was so looking forward to being the new Paganini."

"I think you're more like Paganini than you realize."

Bakura was taken aback by this and inquired rather vehemently, "How so?"

Ryou hadn't meant to say that out loud. She paused for a moment in a state of shock. But, in the end, she did answer, "Well, I mean, the rumor of Paganini's time was that he had made a deal with the devil to acquire his violin expertise."

Bakura mulled this over for a while in his mind before resolving calmly, "Ah, I see. So you think I sacrificed virgins to get my writing ability?"

"I didn't say that…"

"You implied it."

Ryou smiled sheepishly. "It's a joke, Bakura. I don't actually think that."

"I should hope not," Bakura snapped. "Hard work got me to where I am. Blood. Sweat. Tea."

"Don't you mean tears?"

"No."

"Oh."

Ryou shuffled her feet nervously and glimpsed back at the stacks of Bakura's belongings that still required organizing. "I suppose I should get back to work," she decided, pointing out the door as though Bakura had not noticed his own home was still in disarray.

"As you wish."

And Ryou did wish. She wished all this stuff could categorize and organize itself faster. As much as she honestly didn't mind doing the work, she preferred talking to Bakura over everything else. Was that weird? She thought it weird. Truthfully, it didn't matter though. It was a fact. And, as she alphabetized the genres of books from autobiographies to zoology, she missed the polite conversation Bakura and she had been sharing more and more.

Soon, she got distracted from the work and fell asleep against one of the bookshelves with a couple of books in Chinese balanced on her lap.

Oh well. She had got to the F's—for "foreign languages." That was enough progress for one day Ryou thought dreamily as the rich darkness inside her eyelids rejuvenated her.

But that had been her last thought before she had completely fallen into a slumber. If she had stayed up a few minutes more, she would have felt the books being lifted off her lap, herself being moved to the sofa, and a blanket being laid out over her sleeping form.

More questions Bakura would have to answer later, he supposed. But certainly, those would not be the ones she was most interested in learning the answers to. Of that, Bakura was sure.

_Author's Note: Surprised I didn't have Ryou question him on the whole kissing thing? Yeah, me too. Tough. You'll have to wait until next chapter. Just like me._

_Thank you for all the continuing support I get while writing this story along with my other stories. Please review if you can spare the time._


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